


Army of Cain (Darkness Is Coming) - Blood Ties

by silverruffian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels vs. Demons, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Clones, Dark Sam Winchester, Demon Cure, Demon Dean Winchester, F/M, Fae Magic, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Knight of Hell Dean, Knight(s) of Hell, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverruffian/pseuds/silverruffian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon Dean encounters legendary Fae sorceress Morgan Le Fay one fateful night. She gives Dean the ability to duplicate himself. Later Dean falls victim to Sam's containment and summoning spell. The question is, which Dean is which? The captured Dean undergoing the blood cure, or the Dean leading the assault against Sam, Castiel, Hannah and the other angels in the bunker?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the twisted tango of brotherly love

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the first of the "Army of Cain" 'verse. Instead of a long multi-chapter fic this 'story will be told in shorter, separate story arcs. Dean's a full-fledged demon in this 'verse. The Righteous Man's pure soul has been twisted and he really likes the disease.
> 
> A/N the 2nd: Chapter title and first quote taken from dialogue from Law and Order: Criminal Intent.
> 
> And now a HUGE word of thanks: To the very talented beata101. I developed the idea for this 'verse from her stunning "Army of Cain (Darkness Is Coming)" Demon Dean artwork. She coined the phrase "Army of Cain" and I have her permission to use it and the image. Please go over to her art gallery: beata101 at DeviantArt and take a look at the rest of her art. Her work is absolutely stunning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon Dean encounters legendary Fae sorceress Morgan Le Fay one fateful night. She gives Dean the ability to duplicate himself. Later Dean falls victim to Sam's containment and summoning spell. Which Dean is which? The captured one undergoing the blood cure, or the one leading the assault against Sam, Castiel, Hannah and the other angels in the bunker?
> 
> Up now: Sam cooperates with a witch to obtain a capture spell for Dean.

Artwork courtesy of beata101: http://beata101.deviantart.com/art/Army-of-Cain-fan-made-poster-464613909

o0o0o0o0o0

"Bad guys do what good guys dream."

\- Detective Robert Goren,

Major Case Squad, Law and Order Criminal Intent

_**Chapter 1 – the twisted tango of brotherly love** _

From the IndyStar e-newspaper

Indianapolis, IN

**LOCAL MAN ASSAULTED IN BIZARRE ATTACK**

**Filed by Leon Abernathy 11:34a.m. EST December 1, 2014**

Businessman Leland Owens was abducted by a masked assailant late Sunday night as he returned from an outing with his family. According to witnesses the masked man stepped out of the shadows and forced the victim back into his SUV at gunpoint in the driveway of his home in Wesland Hills. Mr. Owens was later found unconscious hours later at the abandoned Trenary Glassworks plant. His left hand was amputated at the wrist. What was even more curious was the fact that that his attacker took the time to cauterize the wound.

Leland Owens is a respected businessman in the Greater Indianapolis area. In the last decade his real estate holdings have expanded at a phenomenal rate.

Police speculate that the assailant himself was the one who called police and alerted them to the victim's whereabouts, although the reason for that remains unknown. What is known is that Mr. Owens' cell phone was not found at the scene.

Unnamed sources at the hospital indicate that cuts resembling a strange diamond shape pattern were also slashed into the victim's left arm, below his stump. Sources also tell us that Mr. Owens became hysterical when he saw his injuries after he regained consciousness in the ER, ranting and raving that his bill had come due after all.

Police made no further comment.

Leland Owens is listed in extremely critical condition at IU Health Academic Health Center.

Related: Police Chase in Owens' Kidnapping Leads to Dead End

Call Star reporter Leon Abernathy(317) 445-6719. Follow him on Twitter: Leon Abernathy.

* * *

_**Somewhere in Hendricks County, Indiana** _

The black-eared kite wheeled in the night sky. She had many forms, but the bird one was her favorite. She had many names too; she remembered them all. Kujan was her favorite. In the past those who didn't know any better had labeled her: tengu, changeling, demon, fae.

Kujan was content to allow the ignorant to think whatever the hell they wanted about her. None of it was entirely true, but some of it was.

She spread her wings and soared upwards towards the silvery moon. Seventy feet above the road her beak and wings flapped sharply. One bird exploded into one hundred separate bodies. The new swarm formed a long shimmering ribbon, then dipped into a spiral that twisted and writhed silently in the moonlight above the road.

Sam Winchester never noticed.

The Impala was the only car on this stretch of highway; the big black car growled like an angry thing. The open road, a sense of urgency, the faint copper stench of blood in the air was familiar to Sam. The way his insides churned with adrenaline and tension was the exactly the same as it had been on any other night he'd spent on the road for the past ten years. Everything was the same. But nothing really was.

Leland Owens' voice echoed inside Sam's head.

" _-she sent you, didn't she?"_

Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His mouth was set in a firm hard line as he stared at the road ahead. He very pointedly ignored the black bag on the bench seat next to him. It was as if Owens' voice had transferred itself into his stolen flesh.

" _I have money...you-you don't have to do this -"_

Sam's traitor of an imagination was only too happy to replay the details: the deer in headlights look in the man's light grey eyes. The way Owens trembled when he saw the meat cleaver in Sam's gloved hands.

" _Oh no, please, nooooo..."_

The cleaver made a dull thunk as it sliced through flesh and bone. It was such a small, common noise, actually.

The Impala bounced forward. Damn. A bump in the road. The black bag on the bench seat rolled over until it came to rest against Sam's thigh. Sam's skin prickled. He swore the hand twitched sideways, its fingertips pressing against his jeans through the fabric of the bag. As the Impala resumed its forward motion the black bag rolled back over to the center of the bench seat.

Picking up the bag and tossing it out of the window never occurred to Sam. He never said a word to Owens the entire time. When he looked at the man he saw an objective. A goal. Not flesh and blood, not human, not even when he took Owens' left hand and tended to the wound later.

Metal scraped against pavement. Sam flinched. If he screwed up the undercarriage of the car Dean was gonna kill him when he got him back.

"Sorry," Sam muttered out loud. "Sorry."

"Dude. Chill," A familiar voice rumbled. "It's just a damn car."

Sam blinked. Dean sat relaxed and easy on the bench seat near the window, just as he'd done countless times before.

Dean flicked a sideways glance at him. His eyes were moss green, thank God. "Don't get your panties all in a bunch, Samantha. Apparently your Moose sized brain has gone all Doctor Phil on you. It thinks you need a comforting illusion during this psychotic break of yours." Dean shrugged. "So here I am. Lucky me." The elder brother sounded bored. He turned his head and looked out the window as the dark woods sped by.

Sam glanced at his imaginary brother, then back at the road. Wouldn't do to end up in a ditch or wrapped around a tree, not when he'd come this far. The details seemed right so far: spiky dark blond hair. Faded denim. Purple plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up, black tee. Scuffed brown work boots.

Other details were not so right. They were pretty damn unsettling, actually. Dean wore silver handcuffs, each cuff etched with a devil's trap. Sam didn't want to see that. He wanted Dean back the way he was before that damn Mark of Cain.

"Dean?"

Dean looked directly at Sam. Those impossibly long eyelashes blinked. Dean's moss green eyes turned pitch black.

Sam didn't like that at all.

"Hey, don't bitchface me. I'm just a figment of your imagination." Dean glanced down at the cuffs. "Your majorly weird imagination."

Judging by the smirk and that unpleasant twinkle in those black eyes Sam knew that he'd lost control, if he ever had any. This was going to hurt.

Dean spread his hands as wide as the handcuffs would allow. "Speaking of which, you've always had a thing for seeing me handcuffed, right?"

"No!"

"You sure about that?" Dean purred slyly. "Your brain, your details, college boy."

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied gruffly.

Dean barked laughter, sarcastic and amused. "Yeah, it kinda does. You giving the big chop to that Owens dude back there." Dean glanced down at the black bag on the seat next to him. His smirk widened. He clapped his hands together once, sharply.

"What?"

"I'm just giving you a hand. You got four now. Your two, ol' Leland's, and mine."

Sam didn't answer.

"And now you're gonna make yourself BroomHilda's bitch just so you can drag me back into the loving bosom of our totally fucked up family." Imaginary Demon Dean sighed and shook his head as he turned back to the window. "You should've let me go."

"I'm not going to."

"Yeah, well, you always were an obsessed bastard. Never could take a hint."

"Shut up."

"When I ditched you back at the bunker that really should've been your first clue."

"I said shut up!" Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter and glared at his private illusion.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. "Uh, you _do_ realize that you're talking to yourself, right?"

Sam's bitchface never wavered.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Man, this is boring. Never mind. I'm outta here."

Sam blinked. The bench seat by the window was empty.

_Damn brain_ , Sam grumbled to himself. He took his foot off the gas and the Impala slowed. The turn off was up ahead.

* * *

Overhead the bird swarm dipped and the black bodies melded into one creature again. The Impala turned onto a dirt road. Kujan followed, gliding through the shadows overhead.

Half a mile up the turn off sat a tiny log cabin tucked away in a small clearing. The wards were strong here, but the owner of the cabin had never encountered a creature like the kite before. The protection she wove was useless against one such as that.

Sam Winchester parked his car, picked up the bag. He walked up to the front door and entered the cabin.

Kujan flew out of the woods just as the door closed shut. She landed atop the roof of the cabin, light as a feather, cocked her sleek brown head to one side and listened. Her black eyes shone in the moonlight.

* * *

Sam wasn't surprised that the door to the cabin was unlocked. After all, the place was isolated out in the woods. It would also be a pretty tempting sight for anyone out here on foot. Zatkesis could just sit inside and her new flesh would come to her.

_Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly._

Sam switched the bag underneath his right arm. He stepped inside with his left hand on the stake of blessed wood tucked away in his side waistband.

Zatkesis sat at the wooden table in what would have been the kitchen area. The human vessel this time was a large black male, broad-shouldered, nearly as tall as Sam, but still too small to contain the witch's spirit. His clothes were worn and dirty; he was probably some poor homeless bastard who saw the cabin and figured he could crash there for the night. Ink black veins crawled underneath his skin. The eyes were the worst, sunken and shiny silver. The man's skin rippled and crawled underneath his clothes.

The witch made a slight bow. "I am so very glad to see you again, Samuel," she purred. The voice was feminine. "I changed into something more comfortable since you saw me last."

"More comfortable?" Sam huffed. He found it easier to stare at her face despite the fact that something crawled and slithered underneath the man's short kinky hair. God, that looked nasty. Sam settled for staring into her eyes. A ridge of muscle and skin raised up and rolled diagonally over the vessel's chest, across the shoulders and then the back.

"I have to make do," Zatkesis nodded. Sam closed the door behind him. The air inside the cabin reeked with a curious combination of lavender and wet blood. Sam breathed normally. There was no help for it; he was too tired to do otherwise. He walked over to the wooden table in the corner and sat down. Not having to look at the vessel any more than he had to was a definite plus. The inside of the cabin was illuminated by a bright light that filled the place from wall to wall. There were no electric lights as far as Sam could tell. Too bad. He would've welcomed sitting in shadow.

There was a crystal carafe and two goblets on the table.

"May I interest you in a drink?"

Sam shook his head no.

The dark red liquid inside the crystal sparkled. Sam didn't even try to fool himself into thinking it was wine. He knew better.

Zatkesis downed the liquid, placed the goblet on the tabletop.

The brùja laughed.

"What's so damn funny?"

"You Winchesters," she said coyly. "Years ago your father and your older brother searched for me while you were at Stanford. The great John Winchester heard that I possibly had information about Azazel."

"Did you?"

Zatkesis smiled. Her large white teeth were tinted pale red. "Of course. I hid from them. Jumped from body to body. They nearly caught me several times."

"I didn't come here to go over the good old days with you." Sam reached down, picked up the bag next to his chair and tossed the bag on the table.

Zatkesis's fingers shook a little as she reached out and fumbled with the drawstring. She pulled the burlap wrap out, set it on the table. Her fingers shook as she unwrapped it. She gasped when the hand was fully revealed. Light from the overhead lights reflected in the large diamond and ruby ring on the middle finger.

"You said you wanted the ring," Sam said evenly. "And you wanted the flesh."

She ignored him. She lifted the severed hand up with both hands. Her tongue darted out between her lips as she licked at the splatters of blood on the cooling flesh, and then nibbled at the wound at the end of the stump.

Sam grunted. "You want me to come back later? You two need to get a room."

The witch blinked as she came back to herself. She put the hand down and covered it up again. "You're right. Forgive me."

"Let's get on with this. I kept my end of the bargain."

"So you did. Did he scream when you took his hand? Did his eyes widen when you carved my mark into what was left of his arm?"

Sam nodded.

A slow, bloody smile crawled across those bloated features. "Good. My mark will consume him within days. His skin will rot, and so will his internal organs. Leland was one of my most clever students. He never should have defied me like that." She wrapped the hand in the burlap, placed it back into the bag and folded the edges down.

Sam sat there staring at the witch and her vessel. Those silver eyes cleared up. The man blinked, his eyes now dark brown, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. He stared at Sam, blinking in confusion. "Please, mister. Please. Help me. I - I don't know what's going on." He looked around the cabin nervously. "I was on foot. I walked up to this cabin. It was like something made me come here-"

"I can't help you," Sam heard himself say. "Let me talk to Zatkesis."

The man looked startled. "What?"

"You heard me."

The vessel blinked silver again. The witch was back, if she'd ever been gone at all. "So you are sure," she murmured, more to herself than to Sam.

"Sure about what?"

"About your older brother. He is worth the cost?"

The younger Winchester's hazel eyes flashed angrily. "Damn right he's worth it."

"Bear in mind that you will pay another price during the execution of the spell itself. This spell works big and small. It depends on the ties of blood and family and it demands its payment of flesh."

"So you say." Sam leaned forward. "If this doesn't work, I'll come back. And I don't think you'll like it if I do."

"Ah, the bravado of youth. Take no offense, young one. I merely felt obligated to remind you of that again. This is a verbal contract. Consider this conversation the fine print. I also feel I should remind you that you don't have to do this. I can teach you what you need to know, in two days time. You can take that knowledge with you. You will be able to bind and summon your wayward older brother no matter where he is. Or you can go live that normal life you wanted before. You did not search for your brother when he was in Purgatory years ago. Why should this time be any different?"

"How did you -"

"Samuel." Zatkesis said simply, with a slight shake of her head. "Everyone knows."

"I want my brother back, y'hear me?"

"No matter what?"

"No matter what," Sam gritted out.

Zatkesis spread her hands wide. That wide, bloody smile was even more terrible than before. "Then let us begin."

* * *

Chapter 2 will be posted this week. 


	2. not your knight in shining armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Demon Dean encounters legendary Fae sorceress Morgan Le Fay one fateful night. She gives Dean the ability to duplicate himself. Later Dean falls victim to Sam's containment and summoning spell. Which Dean is which? The captured Dean undergoing the blood cure, or the Dean leading the assault against Sam, Castiel, Hannah and the other angels in the bunker?
> 
> Up now: Demon Dean Winchester meets Morgan Le Fay and Camille one night. Demons are all around, and the Fae make Dean an offer they hope he won't refuse.

Artwork courtesy of beata101: http://beata101.deviantart.com/art/Army-of-Cain-fan-made-poster-464613909

o0o0o0o0o0

Pleasure Palace Lounge

Winfield, Texas

The next night

Dean Winchester nursed his beer and was careful not to stare directly at the two females at the next table. He saw through their glamour better that way. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a slight smile.

The illusion they cast confused and intrigued the human males in the bar. The ones who got up their courage and came over to flirt were quickly sent packing by a growl from the short one and a baneful stare from the taller one. The last dude, big, burly, red-faced, apparently thought he was God's gift to women and that they would succumb to his charms soon enough. He hovered around them like a hopeful, annoying puppy and then pulled out a chair and took a seat without even asking their permission.

Shorty tensed up like she wanted to leap over the table at him. The other one gently placed a hand on her companion's arm, and the smaller one restrained herself. Red was too full of himself to notice.

"Did it hurt when you two fell from Heaven?" Red leered.

Dean rolled his eyes. Heaven didn't have a damn thing to do with this. If dumbass could see them for what they really were he'd run out screaming into the night.

Shorty wasn't human. She looked like a cute little thing with a cap of honey blonde hair, tie-dyed belly shirt and painted on jeans. Underneath the illusion her face constantly shifted. One moment she was bald, the next moment hair exploded from her scalp. Jet black and bone straight, then auburn red and wavy. Tawny blonde fur pushed its way out all over her body, only to disappear and smooth out into iridescent green reptile scales. Her pert upturned nose formed into a bird's beak once moment, then flattened into a dog's blunt muzzle the next. She blinked hazel, green, grey, blue, gold, then silver. Her muscles were in constant motion, resetting themselves on a whim, flat chested one moment, busty the next.

The taller one was centuries old and didn't look a day over 30. Her human illusion was of a tall, dark-haired woman with shoulder length hair, painted on jeans and a rose colored tee shirt. Her real look was more stable and deceptively human. Underneath it all she wore a long, dark blue velvet dress. Low cut. Nice rack. She was striking: long wavy hair, smooth skin, dark eyes. Her soft full lips were medium purple, a delicious shade that would probably taste like some exotic fruit.

They were Fae.

The Mark of Cain stirred restlessly underneath Dean's skin. It was bored.

And so was he.

Dean picked up his beer mug. The taller Fae cast a wary glance his way, and her eyes widened when he stood up and headed directly for their table. The shorter one froze, deer in headlights, as Dean stopped and stood between them.

"Good to see you, baby," Dean drawled. He bent down and brushed his lips against the curve of the dark haired one's face. Her glamour tickled his skin.

"And you bought your friend! Hey, sweetie." Dean kissed the the shell of Shorty's left ear just as she shifted into a rather comely leopard woman. Her whiskers twitched when Dean touched her.

Red's eyes bulged. His face became even redder. Dean straightened up and smiled at him. That bright, feral smile promised severe pain. Broken bones.

The ER or the morgue. Your choice, pal.

Red's social skills might have been piss poor but apparently he had a finely tuned sense of self-preservation. He kept his face carefully blank as he stood up and headed towards the bar without a backwards glance.

Dean walked around and slid onto the chair. "Ladies! What can I do you out of tonight?"

"How dare you!" the 'shifter growled.

Shorty's upper lip curled back, revealing sharp white eyeteeth. Her fingernails grew long, black and curved. The dark haired Fae murmured "Hush now. Be still." She placed her hand over her companion's left hand and the change stopped and reversed itself. Their accents weren't the usual down home twang that was found in these parts.

"I dare," Dean replied. He made himself comfortable, sat back in his chair and drank before setting his mug on the table. This was insolent and downright disrespectful. Just the way he liked it.

"It's a small world, y'know? Who'da thought a Fae heavy hitter and her running buddy would end up here in Bumfuck, Texas. In a dive like this, out in the middle of nowhere." He spread his arms wide, smiling. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world you two had to walk into mine."

If they recognized the pop culture reference to Casablanca they gave no sign.

He didn't even wait for a response.

"You're Morgan Le Fay, am I right?" Those dark purple eyes flickered silver. That was all the answer Dean needed. He smirked at Shorty. "And you must be Camille. You're a 'shifter." He pointed from one to the other. "She created you."

"Since you know so much about us, allow me to return the favor, Dean Winchester." Morgan smiled grimly as she leaned forward. The 'shifter trembled, eager to leap forward at Dean. He was pretty sure he;d enjoy it if and when she did. Morgan held on to Camile's hand much like a human holds onto the leash of an animal. "You were a human hunter. The Righteous Man. Michael's Sword. Four years ago my people marked you in Elwood, Indiana."

Dean looked thoughtful as he took a sip of beer. "Not that I give a damn anymore, but why'd did they pick me?"

The Fae shrugged. "My people have an eye for great physical beauty in humans." Morgan's purple gaze wandered over Dean's face, chest and shoulders. She smiled slightly. "You bear the Mark of Cain now. Your hound trueform suits you very well indeed. You're very handsome, even as a demon. That is what I believe you would call the Reader's Digest version. Did I miss anything?"

"That pretty much covers it."

"Good. I also know that you are on the outs with the King of Hell. Are you aware that there are demons prowling around in the woods surrounding this place?"

"Don't con a con man, sweetheart. I know better."

"I don't know what you mean," Morgan said stiffly.

Dean smirked. He leaned forward, both elbows on the table. "Yeah, you do. A month ago the King of Hell approached you with an employment offer. You told Crowley to stick it where the sun don't shine." Dean chuckled. "Now you're being hunted. Sure, there are demons waiting outside, but they're here for you two, not me. They've set up wards in a twenty five mile radius around this place. I'm betting your defensive mojo just isn't what it used to be tonight. You can't 'port out and you'll never make it out on foot."

Camile's shoulders slumped a little. She refused to make eye contact. Morgan was made of sterner stuff. If anything she kept her head raised high and she always looked Dean in the eye.

"I'm on the outs with Crowley, but he still thinks I'm going to come crawling back. You're number one on his shit list right now. He needs to make an example of you two. That's why you came here. You already knew who and what I am. You thought you could convince me to protect you, but you weren't quite sure how to go about it. Maybe trick me into bed like your girl did Arthur. He was your brother, right? The King?" Dean snorted. "Damn, that's kinky."

Camille very pointedly stared at the tabletop. Bringing up what she did to Arthur apparently wasn't something she was too proud of.

"Or maybe we'll have a threesome." Dean shrugged. "Not that I'd have a problem with that, y'understand. It's just sex. But if we do, I'm not gonna protect you afterwards. Not my fight. Not my problem."

"Please," Morgan leaned forward. Her face and body posture softened. "We have need of one such as yourself."

"Lady, I'm not your knight in shining armor."

"But you are a Knight."

Dean scoffed. "Knights are your kink. Yeah, I get that. If you were looking for Sir Lancelot you came to the wrong damn place."

Morgan slowly stretched out her left arm towards Dean, her fingers curved downward. Dean dropped his right hand to his side. He wondered how fast he could pull the First Blade out and whether Fae magic would still work on him. This was going to be interesting.

Instead of a knife or some other weapon Morgan held a fat brown leather pouch. It was a neat trick that no one else in the bar noticed. The pouch was heavy. It clinked as she gently laid it down. "I have gold. Plenty of it, now and later, if you get us to safety."

Dean relaxed. "That's it? That's your pitch?"

"It is all we have."

"Not interested. Keep your money."

The pouch disappeared.

"Very well." Morgan gave Camille's hand a quick, tight squeeze. "Come, little one."

Dean sat back in his chair and watched them leave. As soon as the back door swung shut he stood up with his beer mug and walked out.

The moon overhead resembled a skull. Cold, bleached white bone.

Morgan Le Fay and Camille had already dropped their glamour. Camille was four-legged now, a huge grey wolf that bounded alongside her mistress. Morgan Le Fay fled, her long dress a fluttering shadow darker than the surrounding woods.

Dean couldn't quite place what he was feeling. Restless? Wired? He couldn't tell which. Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Felt too much like a human emotion, something he actively stayed far away from nowadays. The feeling reminded him of Crowley, ironically enough. The King of Rotten and his damn feels. Sam hadn't done him any favors with that partial blood cure.

Guilt? Dean shrugged. Oh hell no. He raised his mug and drained it in one long swallow.

The demon chorus howled and warbled into the dark night air, a high, thin sound that was more suited for the Serengeti Plains than the woods of Texas. The hunt was on.

Not my fight, Dean thought. Not my problem.

He shrugged and walked back into the Pleasure Palace.

TBC this week.


	3. hell night at the movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Demon Dean encounters legendary Fae sorceress Morgan Le Fay one fateful night. She gives Dean the ability to duplicate himself. Later Dean falls victim to Sam's containment and summoning spell. Which Dean is which? The captured Dean undergoing the blood cure, or the Dean leading the assault against Sam, Castiel, Hannah and the other angels in the bunker?
> 
> Up now: Crowley, the King of Hell, watches his demon assassins take on Morgan Le Fay and Camille. Crowley realizes he hunted the wrong ones.

Artwork courtesy of beata101: http://beata101.deviantart.com/art/Army-of-Cain-fan-made-poster-464613909

o0o0o0o0o0

Chapter 2 – hell night at the movies

Somewhere topside humans in their worthless meatsuits crowded into darkened rooms to watch talking raccoons and giant fire breathing lizards wreck havoc. There was always one or two in the crowd who hid compact digital camcorders in their handbags or underneath their jackets. They saw a need and they rushed to fill it. These were humans after The King of Hell's own dark heart. Bootleg copies of first run movies were a booming business, one that even Hell had their claws into. 

As for the rest of the humans? They ate overpriced buttered popcorn, spilled soda until the floor became nasty and sticky, yelled at the movie screen, laughed too loud and thumped the backs of the seats in front of them with their feet. 

Hell’s screening room was much more civilized than that. The King didn't tolerate such nonsense, unless he was the one laughing his head off. Thumping the seats in front of him wasn't possible because his tall, expensive, black leather covered director's chair was the only seat available, aside from the cheaper ones the three technicians occupied in the control station off to the side. 

Tonight Fletcher the head flunky was already there, fidgety as always in his light grey suit. A tall blonde minion dressed in black stood by the door. She was a server; judging by the way she constantly stared at her perfect red nails she was obviously bored out of her mind. 

Everyone snapped to, ramrod straight, when Crowley suddenly appeared in the room. He smiled at the sudden increase of fear and tension. He could have been old school about it, walked in and used the door like so-called "normal" folks, but keeping his flunkies on edge, never knowing when and if he would appear was good for business. It kept them on their toes. 

After all, Hell didn't run itself. But sometimes the little engine that could chugged merrily along the tracks all on its own, fueled by fear, intimidation and the countless bloody examples Crowley made public since he made his triumphant return. He had no illusions about his loyal subjects; they’d turn on him in the blink of an eye if they thought they could get away with it.  
After Crowley settled himself in his chair Blondie walked forward. Seeing the bottle of GlenCraig whiskey on her tray made Hell's Finest Salesman smile. The server carefully poured two fingers into the cut crystal glass. Then she favored him with a bright smile, bowed and returned to her station by the door. 

Crowley looked her up and down appreciatively. Not bad. Another would-be consort. Ever since Lola betrayed him to Abaddon and was summarily "retired" (killed) there had been a constant stream of hopefuls who wanted to take her place. 

The head flunky came forward, bowing. He had a head full of lush silver hair. His name topside was Glen Fletcher; in his previous life he'd been a television evangelist. Little old ladies all over the country sent him their last dollars, nickels and dimes for salvation. None of that did Fletcher any damn good. 

“What, no popcorn?” Crowley muttered. 

The old dolt looked confused. “Popcorn, sire?”

Crowley stared hard at his servant. “I want butter flavored. A big bowl.”

“Yes, sire.” Fletcher turned and snapped at the waiting minion. “Butter flavored popcorn for the king!” She nodded and hurried out of the room. Fletcher turned back to Crowley and his expression softened as he bowed again. “I apologize for that oversight.”

Crowley didn’t acknowledge the apology. He quirked one eyebrow at the wall of screens instead. "Progress report?"

One of the techs turned in his chair. He nodded respectfully. "We're up and running. Body cameras and comms are fully functional. The team will engage Le Fay in five minutes. We'll have a live feed in three."

Crowley sniffed at the red carnation in his lapel. “Her own fault. Stubborn Fae bitch.” 

Fletcher stood perfectly still while Crowley took a long, slow sip. Wonderful stuff. The nectar of the gods. “All she had to do was say yes and agree to work for me. Even her own people are on the outs with her. Anything else?”

Fletcher answered helpfully. “Her shapeshifter is with her. Not a problem.” 

"Good."

Less than two minutes later the King of Hell had a large bowl of perfectly popped buttered popcorn on the table next to his chair. 

A minute later the show began. 

The wall screen was divided into twelve separate screens, one for each body cam. As the live feed came in all twelve screens lit up. Trees and branches whipped by in a blur. 

Crowley stared at the screens with a critical eye. One of the features of this new camera rig was night vision. Even though demons didn't need that, it was still nice to be able to see everything so clearly. The sound quality was also top notch. 

Ten minutes later Crowley would regret having those features. 

Hell's assasins howled and screeched like banshees as they ran and leaped through the dark forest. The fast moving jerkiness of the camera motion reminded Crowley of the movie “The Blair Witch Project", a quaint little comedy with a few minor scares. 

All twelve screens paused. There she was, that Fae bitch, up ahead, running through the forest at top speed. A huge grey wolf ran by her side. 

The demons surged forward. Three of them went wide as they surged ahead to cut the Fae off. A buzz of white static, and then a startled voice, one of the possessed ones: “Boss, I think there's something else out---”

Two of the screens blinked, rolled to white static, then went dead.

Crowley sighed ruefully. Human toys were wonderful, but tech had its faults. This wasn't the first time a glitch had occurred. Shit happened, as the meatsuits were so very fond of saying. 

Of course, the last time 'shit happened' the previous tech team paid for it with their lives. 

A few seconds later, a babble of excited voices: "WHAT???" "AHHHHH----"

Four more screens rolled to black. 

Crowley scowled. Cameras one through six were still active, but this was still pretty damned annoying, especially when things were just getting good. He tapped his fingers on the leather armrest. Fletcher stared straight ahead, but his eyes bulged like doorknobs with fear and anxiety.

The techs were too busy fiddling with their board controls to notice. 

Up ahead Morgan Le Fay turned to face her tormentors. She made a curious hand gesture and her right hand filled with a curved golden dagger that resembled an oversized claw. Her wolf stood snarling beside her, all teeth and fury, eyes gone to slits. 

Le Fay smiled grimly, then raised her left hand and motioned the demons to come get her. The action on the screens blurred as the demons closed in, slashing with their knives, then jumped back out of range. 

The Fae bitch was still different shades of purple, but some of the darker stains were blood. The long black dress she wore was slashed and cut in places. Her companion wolf stood by her side, bloodied and defiant, thick smoke grey fur speckled with blood. They swayed on their feet.

Now this was entertainment. 

The blades were treated with a poison specially designed to weaken Fae kind. The two females stood in the center of a circle of demons. Six different screens showed six different camera angles: from behind, on the sides and in front.  


Crowley picked idly at an imaginary speck of lint on the right knee of his immaculate black suit. "You did mention that I want trophies, didn't you?" he said casually, as though it wasn't a big deal; everyone present knew it really was. "Their heads. That knife looks like a collector's item. A real keeper. I want it."

Fletcher bowed solemnly "The team was made aware of your wishes, but we can always remind them. Thy will be done." 

The technician in the middle chair relayed the message to the team over the coms. 

"Roger that, base," the team leader replied. 

"Good."

Several demons darted in, blades flashing in the moonlight. Morgan Le Fay deflected most of the blows in a blur of movement. Her wolf snarled, then howled as she received several glancing knife strikes. The demons leaped back, laughing and whooping. This was the beginning of a long, slow, painful death, a message to the other Fae, which was exactly why Crowley didn’t send Juliet after her. 

Juliet didn’t do slow death. 

Crowley smiled as he fisted a handful of movie theater popcorn. He popped it into his mouth and chewed with gusto. 

“Evenin', fellas," someone off-camera drawled.

That most excellent butter flavored popcorn took on the taste of bitter ashes. The King's cheeks bulged out like a chipmunk's as he choked on the popcorn. He immediately recognized that familiar whiskey smooth voice. Crowley didn't need to breathe, but his Adam's apple hitched up and down as he forced himself to swallow the suddenly dry lump. He grabbed his glass and gulped whiskey down. 

The demons turned. 

Dean Winchester stood relaxed and easy. His hands were empty. No First Blade in sight. 

That didn't make Crowley feel any better. 

Fletcher's thin face creased up worriedly. “Sire---”

"Shut up. Shut up!" 

“You’re not supposed to be here, Winchester,” the lead demon snarled. "This isn’t your kill. We're not after you. Not yet, anyway.”

Dean shrugged. “I was just wondering why it takes six big bad demons to take down two Fae.”

The demon scowled. “Six? There’s twelve of us." 

“There were 12 of you,” Dean said mildly. “Now there’s only six.” 

The demons snarled. Three of the others shifted position, moving fast and nimbly through the clearing towards the newcomer. Now Dean stood in the center of a rough triangle, while the leader and the other two covered Le Fay and Camille. 

Dean seemed remarkably unconcerned about this. The two Fae stared at him in disbelief. 

"Doesn’t matter. You're the boss' pet. His useless boy toy."

"Wow. You use words that hurt." Dean mock-sniffed. "That makes me sad." 

The demon in charge sneered. "I imagine if we brought him your head too he'd like that. Three birds with one stone."

"Is that a fact?" Dean smirked. 

Crowley leaned forward in his chair. "Get them out of there!" he hissed.

Fletcher and the techs looked confused. "What?"

"I said get them out of there---"

"Sire, he's only one demon," the head tech replied. 

"HE HAS THE MARK OF CAIN, YOU TWIT!" Crowley roared. "EVAC THEM NOW!!!"

Everyone in the room jumped. 

The lead tech shouted into his mike: "Alpha Team, disengage immediately. I repeat, disengage immediately-----"

They never did. 

Perhaps it was just another equipment malfunction. Or maybe the killers were just too hyped up to listen. In any event, things went south very very quickly.

The largest demon rushed at Dean from behind. That particular vessel was a huge bearlike human male, especially chosen for his size. He wrapped his arms around Dean's midsection, pinning his arms to his sides.

Monitors two and three blurred as the other two demons rushed forward, piling on top of Dean and the big one as they fell backwards. The two others who stood with the leader also leaped to join in. They all whooped and shrieked with glee. 

The leader turned and charged at Morgan Le Fay. Camille yelped as she was hit across her muzzle and her chest. She stumbled backwards, then recovered. 

She was too late.

Morgan Le Fay's dagger was knocked out of her hand. The demon struck her in the face, hard, grabbed her and then spun her around in front of him like a shield. He put his knife to her throat and dragged her backwards a few steps.  
The demon grinned. The tip of his blade nicked her smooth skin. Blood trickled down her long shapely neck. The skin surrounding the cut darkened as the poison flooded into her system. 

Camille stalked forward, head down. Le Fay's eyes were glassy, unseeing. She shuddered when the possessed one licked the side of her face with his tongue. He winked at Camille. "Now now. Be a good little puppy and I won't hurt her."

That was a lie, of course.

Dean laughed, a low rumble of unholy amusement. 

Bright red light blazed from five of the monitors on the wall. The demons in the dog-pile shrieked like lost souls.

~TBC this week~


	4. peep show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean squares off against the demon assassins in the woods. Morgan and Camille show their gratitude.
> 
> Warning: Descriptions of sexual activity and general weirdness ahead. Ye have been warned.

Artwork courtesy of beata101: http://beata101.deviantart.com/art/Army-of-Cain-fan-made-poster-464613909

o0o0o0o0o0o0

Chapter 4 – Peep Show

Crowley leaned forward in his chair, intent on taking in every detail. He was not about to turn away now.

Shit happened. Nobody knew that better than Crowley. Shit happened and you either folded your tents and gave up the game or you rolled with it. Deals didn't always go according to plan. Part of being a salesman was knowing how to improvise, being able to think on your feet.

"I see you, Squirrel," Crowley murmured to no one in particular. "I see you, you ungrateful sod."

o0o0o0o0o0

The red light pulsed as the shock wave reached outward, kicking up dirt and leaves as it rolled across the ground. The light turned in on itself, became taller, man-shaped. It faded away, leaving the source, the new Cain, standing in the center of a circle of crumpled bodies. The corpses were dried out husks, mouths stretched wide in agony, eye sockets burnt black holes.

Dean's eyes shone pitch black, then shifted back to green. The Mark of Cain flared up, its fiery outline visible underneath the right sleeve of Dean's black leather jacket.

"I'll kill her! I will!" The demon leader pulled the Fae woman in front of him even tighter. Her feet barely touched the ground.

"Dude. You're not gonna kill her." Dean pulled the First Blade from his back waistband.

The end was short, efficient, and brutal.

The last demon never had a chance. Dean was suddenly there, nose to nose with him. The instantly recognizable sound of the First Blade slicing into flesh came over the speakers, followed by a gasp, the last surprised intake of breath from stolen lungs. The camera lingered on Dean's face. The fading orange glow from the demon's death made him look totally Other. Oddly enough, Dean looked bored by it all, as though he couldn't wait to finish this and go back to boozing and bad karaoke.

Several screens were still active, the body cams showing ground level angles of the woods and the dark sky above. Camera one moved sideways, went out of focus, and then the picture sharpened.

The team leader stared blankly into the lens. His eyes were dull brown, his face slack, lifeless. The camera moved upwards, further back, then tilted down a little. What looked like the top of an arm and a shoulder wearing black leather was clearly visible at the bottom of the screen.

Dean Winchester was in the picture, right beside and a little behind the deceased demon. His left hand came up and pushed into both corners of the dead one's mouth. The corpse smiled, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk with a mouth full of nuts. Dean looked into the camera and smiled, wide and bright. He pursed his lips and blew a kiss.

Technician one sputtered. "Was that -did he just-"

"Bastard took a selfie," Crowley growled.

A loud thump, and the body camera and the dead one hit the ground again. The camera tilted away this time, a worm's eye view of grass and tree roots.

The King of Hell sat back in his chair. All of the minions in the room stared at him, fearful but trying not to show it.

"Well then," Crowley said pleasantly. "That tape is eyes only. Namely my eyes. No one else. If any of this leaves this room I'll have your guts for garters. Do I make myself clear?"

Everyone nodded.

He was all too aware of the fact that there were other factions in hell who would be very interested in a Knight of Hell, even a rogue one.

"Good."

Crowley snapped his fingers. Fletcher came apart at the seams, a cloud of thick black smoke that immediately faded out into wisps of dead grey smoke.

True, poor old Fletcher hadn't been the bearer of bad news, but sometimes one just had to make do. Minions like him were a dime a dozen.

"Ah, that's much better." Crowley smiled.

Blondie looked like she'd be a good lay. A pleasant way to pass the time later. And the three techs were talented nerds with a flair for technology. They had been accomplished hackers topside. The lead tech was a major player in the Sony Pictures hack on behalf of North Korea. He was struck and killed by a hit and run driver after the first online leak. He was a keeper, and so were the others. Crowley hated to needlessly squander resources like that.

The techs sat in their chairs and stared at Crowley like a trio of puppies. They awaited further orders, so Crowley gave them: "Send a retrieval team topside to get the body cams and whatever else we can salvage. Leave the rest. The last thing we need down here is more dead meat."

"Yes sir."

The King crooked a finger at Blondie. "C'mere, darling. I didn't get your name."

"Marion, sire," she said brightly.

Crowley rose from his chair. "Come with me and we'll discuss your ah, upward mobility."

Marion bowed her head respectfully.

The King of Hell was displeased with the results of the night, but he was determined not to show it. He needed further stress relief, and Marion looked very capable. He wasn't in a bloody mood now, just horny.

During the short time he'd spent with Dean Crowley supposed that even though the eldest Winchester brother had the Mark and the abilities of a Knight of Hell he just didn't have the will. Howling at the moon was fine, but there came a time when enough was enough.

Crowley realized now that he should have taken a firm hand with Dean from the start. Not doing that was a big mistake.

Not making his newly minted Knight of Hell come to heel like a good hound was another.

Damn those Fae, Crowley thought. I went after the wrong one.

o0o0o0o0o0

Dean picked up the First Blade and wiped it off on the team leader's pant leg. He stood up and slipped it into his back waistband.

Camille padded over to where Morgan's curved dagger lay, picked it up by the handle with her mouth and brought it back to her mistress. Morgan's color was better and her eyes brighter. The wounds in her skin were already healing, even though her clothing was still torn. She carefully held the dagger in her right hand. The wolf crouched down and snarled when Dean turned and looked at them.

He wasn't the least bit intimated. He walked over, leaned down and held out his right hand. "Come with me if you want to live," he said solemnly.

"Huh?" Morgan and Camile blinked, then looked at each other, confused.

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Work with me, will ya? I've always wanted to say that for real."

Morgan nodded. "As you wish." She gestured with her hands and the dagger disappeared. Camille relaxed. She walked around Dean, slinking along more like a big cat than a wolf. She rubbed against Dean's legs.

Dean raised his hand again and this time Morgan took it. She rose to her feet gracefully. Dean pulled her to him, wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Now what am I going to do with you two?" he rumbled.

"What indeed," Morgan murmured as she stroked the left side of Dean's face. "I believe the three of us could think of something."

Dean leaned in. He wasted no time capturing her soft full lips. The taste of exotic fruit flooded his mouth and he was determined to take his time. Morgan opened her mouth to him immediately and Dean accepted the invitation. There was nothing sweet or slow about that kiss. Morgan obviously wanted to be the dominant one, but Dean clearly had other ideas. He overwhelmed her with his tongue and his very talented mouth.

Finally Morgan moaned softly into Dean's mouth. She became more pliant, more submissive. She ground her hips into him, wanting more.

Dean nibbled at her lower lip, swiped his tongue over her skin. From what he could tell, that remarkable taste was in her skin, not just her lips. He reached out with his mind and loosened the top of her dress. It fell away around her shoulders. No bra; she didn't need one. Her breasts were erect, proud, already perky from the cool night air.

Dean leaned down and wrapped his tongue around Morgan's right nipple. Her back arched as his mouth moved in slow circles. Morgan's fingers shook as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"...ughnnh...yes...pl-plea-se...m-more..."

"Wait for me," Camille grumbled. The air around her shimmered silver as she released her wolfskin and shifted into her womanform. She was totally naked. She nimbly climbed up on Dean's broad back, stretched past him and kissed Morgan deeply on the mouth.

Dean lifted his head, growled wordlessly at her. He reached out and grabbed a handful of her short blonde hair and pulled her back to him. She was as light as a feather, had no problem maneuvering around him. Dean soon discovered why: Camille had wings. Leathery ones the color of her pale pink skin. They beat slowly as they kept her aloft.

He was too aroused to be amazed. They were Fae, after all. This was going to be a night to remember.

Camille slid her right arm around his broad shoulders. She opened her mouth and welcomed Dean's kiss. Unlike Morgan she didn't try to dominate or compete with him. She tasted differently from Morgan, more like cinnamon, but like Morgan Dean couldn't get enough of that taste. He hooked an arm around Camille's waist and held her close.

Morgan pulled the collar of Dean's leather jacket and his tee shirt down, kissed a path from Dean's shoulder up his neck.

He was already incredibly hard. Dean didn't care that they were in a dark clearing with dead bodies scattered all around. He'd had sex in stranger places. Right now he had too many clothes on. The air around the three of them throbbed with heat and sex.

Yeah, Dean thought, right here, right now-

A flicker of movement. Twenty feet away in the darkness. Dean looked up.

Bird. It was a damn bird. Some kind of brown hawk sitting in a tree nearby, watching, its head cocked to one side. Dean didn't know exactly what he was looking at. He did know he didn't like the looks of the damn thing, especially when it startled when it realized he was looking right at it. Last time he checked, normal birds didn't do that. The air around the bird glowed with a faint purplish black shimmer. It was glamour of some sort.

He'd never seen that around a normal bird, either.

Both Fae tensed up. It was only for the merest second, but Dean caught it. He sensed it, felt it in their skin.

"Don't stop..." Camille moaned. She hovered in place, her wings beating in quick strokes as she pushed her body against Dean's, begging for more friction. There was no space between the three of them.

Morgan climbed up on Dean's body. She rubbed the side of her face against Dean's jawline, then nipped and sucked at his earlobe. "Dean? Please?"

Dean ignored them. He reached back, put his hand on the handle of the First Blade. He grasped the Blade, then pulled it out halfway.

Camille sucked hungrily at his lower lip. The Mark of Cain flared up, red hot and angry. The Fae pressed into him on opposite sides; Dean was still incredibly horny. The combination of two simultaneous rushes, murder and arousal, made him lightheaded. His skin felt stretched too tight, too small for his body. The weight of his clothes pissed him off.

Adrenaline sizzled along his nerve endings. The urge to kill won out. Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously, then flickered to pitch black.

The bird moved. It took off in the opposite direction with a snap of its wings, a fast moving blur among the shadows. Dean tracked it with his eyes. It was moving away, not towards them.

"Damn," Dean whispered.

Morgan wriggled up against Dean. She licked a long stripe up his neck. "Ohhh...you have such beautiful eyes...green or black..."

Camille pushed her bare foot between Dean's legs. Her nimble toes brushed against his cock, slow touches that were absolutely maddening. Dean's erection came roaring back as the Mark became quiet again. Camille undid Dean's fly with her toes.

He pushed the Blade back into place, released his grip on the handle.

Morgan leaned in. Dean allowed her tongue entry and his skin tingled all over as her taste flooded his mouth. The only conscious thought he had was fucking her, fucking Camille, fucking and tasting them long and slow. His body screamed for release, but he had just enough presence of mind to wrap all three of them up in his power and then concentrate on where they were going. They couldn't stay here. He was done with the great state of Texas.

Dean Winchester, Morgan LeFay and Camille vanished. There was no one left alive in the clearing to watch them go.

o0o0o0o0o0

Kujan fled through the woods. Stupid stupid STUPID! she screamed at herself inside her head.

The spot between her wings prickled. She imagined sharp bone slicing into that space, opening her up from behind.

Getting killed would serve her right. She should have known better. She'd underestimated the demon after all. Kujan had heard rumors about the Knights of Hell, she'd heard of Cain, but she never really believed any of it. A lot of Other beings were prone to wild exaggerations, and many of the ones she knew used lies as their stock in trade. This was the first time she'd ever seen a Knight of Hell in action. The first time, and it might have been the last.

This Knight seemed too pretty, too soft to be any danger to her. She thought that even as she hovered over the woods and watched him kill the other demons one by one. She hadn't felt any fear of him until she looked into those black eyes and saw her death there. He was dangerous, all right. His handiwork was all around, torn and cooling flesh scattered like so many dead leaves all around in in the shadows of the woods.

A few more feet, and nothing happened. Kujan rose atop the treeline. Knights of Hell couldn't fly, could they? She hoped not. She rather doubted it. The Winchester demon had a canine trueform, blond and furry, with curved black horns. No wings that she could see.

Kujan felt a tingle of disgust, this time directed not at herself. The sounds they made were disgusting. The way they allowed him to touch their bodies was unseemly. She hated this bastard on sight, even more than his freakishly tall younger brother. She'd been careless, but that was understandable. It was the shock of seeing that beast with his hands all over her mothers.

Filthy, dirty canine.

Another moment passed with no incident, and she grew more confident about her chances.

Knights of Hell didn't have wings after all, or if they did, this one was too busy to give chase.

Kujan relaxed. She spread her wings and soared higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Dean is given a special gift: the ability to duplicate himself. The time of the Army of Cain has begun.


	5. four degrees of separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean unwillingly receives his gift from the Fae. He meets his clones. He is more than the new Father of Murder now; he's the founding father of the Army of Cain.

Artwork courtesy of beata101

o0o0o0o0o0o

Romero Beach Bungalows

Island Elegance Suite

Sanibel Island, Florida

The three people lying on the wooden deck were as still as statues. The morning sunlight outlined their naked bodies in shades of gold.

Dean lay on his back, relaxed, eyes half lidded. He was sated, at least for the moment. Sleep was a human weakness he was no longer burdened with.

Morgan and Camille snuggled into him on either side. He experienced twin tracks of sound and vibration, one layered over another: their heartbeats, slow, measured breathing, the shushh of their blood as it flowed through their veins. Beneath that, slightly louder, was the constant rush of ocean waves under the deck at his back.

All the stories he'd heard about having sex with Fae were true and then some. A human male would have been overwhelmed. Dean wasn't. He'd had threesomes before, when he was human, but nothing like this. They'd tasted and explored every square inch of each other's bodies for ten straight hours. Dean was more than ready for another round, totally up to the task, but right now the sunrise warmed his skin. The Fae were both sleeping and for the moment he was content to simply lie there.

If walls could talk the Island Elegance Suite would have some wild tales to tell.

They'd started on the front porch, then stumbled into the living room onto the couch. During the haze of body heat, hot breath, shed clothes and a tangle of arms and legs (sometimes not entirely human) they broke the the king-sized bed in the bedroom, then wandered into the bathroom. Things got wet and even wilder in the spacious shower and tub.

Dean couldn't remember exactly how or when they reached the deck.

The suite was the furthest one out, with the deck situated away from the other over water bungalows. Going commando out there meant they put on quite a show for the gulls and the dolphins, but Dean wouldn't have stopped if a Royal Caribbean cruise ship had pulled up alongside and everyone on board whipped out their smartphones.

Morgan's heartbeat sped up. Camille stirred on his left. She rested her arm and her chin on Dean's belly. Dean opened his eyes as Morgan kissed him on the lips. It was a light peck. Dean wanted more.

"We would like to properly thank you for saving us." Her eyes shone in the sunlight, various shades of purple and silver.

"Really?" Dean drawled, amused. "Having nonstop sex isn't gratitude?"

"Silly Knight. Of course not." Morgan slowly licked the shell of Dean's right ear. He shuddered at her touch. "That was pleasure. What we propose will be gratitude well earned. A precious gift."

"That wouldn't be the magic that Crowley wanted from you?"

"Part of it, yes. We've forgotten more magic than most Fae nowadays can ever remember."

He was feeling pretty damn sure of himself. After all, he was a Knight of Hell. He had the Mark of Cain. Just what could these Fae give him, other than a good time in bed? Dean shrugged. "Sure. I'll take it. What is it?"

"What do you want in your life, Dean?"

Dean scowled. Damn. This wasn't what he'd expected. Fae sex magic, now that was something he definitely could appreciate. This sounded suspiciously like feels, which could most likely lead to a damn chick flick moment.

"You had a family once. Your brother and your father," Camille said wistfully. She traced the outline of Dean's concave belly button with her index finger. Dean Junior stirred a little.

Dean batted Camille's hand away with his right hand. That wasn't the kind of friction he was looking for.

All this talk about family seriously pissed him off. He had a new life now, and he didn't want to be reminded of the old one he'd gladly left behind. He pulled his arms away from them and sat up so suddenly the Fae drew away from him.

Dean looked from one to the other and shook his head disgustedly. "Seriously? You're gonna ruin good sex with this emo crap?"

Morgan didn't blink. "You're immortal now. You are a Knight of Hell with the Mark of Cain. Do you really want to squander that time, those abilities, drinking, singing bad karaoke? Camille and I believe there is much more inside you than that."

The smile Dean gave her was sharp enough to cut. "If I wanted Dr. Phil, I'd go get Dr. Phil. You don't know a damn thing about me. I'm outta here." He stood up.

Morgan's dark dress formed around her as she rose to her feet. Camille followed suit; the white dress she wore was shorter, knee length. Dean knew what that meant. They planned on talking at him until he was bored stupid, instead of taking off those stupid clothes and screwing his brains out. The good feeling in his skin faded away.

"We can give you your heart's desire, Dean. What you really want and need."

He turned towards the double doors of the suite. He had absolutely no desire to rehash his past human issues with two Fae bitches who probably already knew the answers anyway. There was absolutely nothing they could say that would make him stay. Time to get his clothes and go.

"Your brother will capture you in two days time," Morgan called out to his broad naked back.

Dean stopped.

He stood there quietly as Morgan waved her hand over the deck. A large circle five feet across appeared. Its surface swirled with many colors that lightened to a silvery mirror finish.

Dean scowled as he turned around halfway. He stared down at the scrying mirror.

An image appeared. The Impala sat beside a rickety looking wooden cabin in a wooded clearing somewhere. The location came instantly to Dean. Somewhere in Hendricks County, Indiana, practically parallel to Lebanon, Kansas. Demon GPS was pretty damn sweet.

He walked over for a closer look. The voice that drifted out of the mirror sounded weird.

"You will need a photo of your brother."

It was two voices at once. The first was male. Deep and rough. The second, layered over the first, was female, high-pitched, nails drawn across a blackboard.

"The more recent the better. The blood is most important, but the image adds another layer. It will help bind the spell to the subject even more."

Morgan made another pass with her hand. The image darkened, then brightened again.

Sam Winchester sat at a wooden table inside the cabin. The man who sat opposite him had some kind of fugly driving him. His clothes bulged upwards as the darkness inside him rolled underneath his skin. Parchment covered in spiky black writing and sigils lay rolled out over the table between them. Sam sat hunched over the parchment, staring intently at what was written there as the witch reached out and pointed to this symbol and that.

"You stupid bastard!" Dean's voice deepened to an impossible bass rumble as the demon aspect inside him rose to the fore. His eyes blackened. The Mark of Cain burned fiery hot underneath his freckled skin. "Why the hell couldn't you leave me alone?"

Camille stood quietly, staring at Dean's face as the elder Fae worked her magic with another hand gesture. "The witch is named Zatkesis," Morgan murmured. "She's very old. Very powerful."

The weird voice drifted out of the mirror: "A syringe full of your blood will be sufficient, Samuel. You need to add something personal from your brother. Something that touched his skin would be best."

Sam nodded. "I have his hair brush. And his razor. I kept them after..." Sam took a deep breath. His mask slipped, exposing the grief he kept hidden. The witch stared at him, fascinated. Just as suddenly Sam composed himself, pushed the emotion he felt back deep inside him. "I kept them after he died," he said stiffly.

Zatkesis leaned back, disappointed. "Good. Do you have a place to keep your brother after he comes back to you?"

"The demon dungeon in the damn Batcave," Dean growled out loud. His voice drowned out Sam's reply, but it was obvious Sam's answer was the same.

Sam sat back in his chair, his face curiously blank. "My brother has the Mark of Cain. He's a Knight of Hell now."

The possessed one pursed his lips. "I know this."

Sam's lips firmed into a hard line. "What I mean is, will this work on him? Will it bind him and bring him to me? Because if it doesn't..."

The witch smiled. "There is no need for threats, Samuel, veiled, obvious or otherwise. I have told you before. Your brother is a demon now, but he was human before this. It will work. The ties of blood and family still bind the two of you, no matter what he's turned into."

Sam nodded. He pulled the parchment to him and resumed studying the writing.

Dean slowly settled himself. His eyes turned green again. He stood there quietly, taking it all in, his head tilted slightly to one side.

Morgan spoke softly. "Learning the spell takes two whole days. Your brother will leave the cabin at midnight tonight. I estimate you have less than 24 hours at most, probably less, but make no mistake, Dean, he will acquire you. After that he will attempt to cure you. "

"How the hell do you know all this?"

"You could say a little bird told us," Camille declared proudly.

A large brown bird of prey alighted on the roof of the bungalow, right above the door leading back into the suite. Its head and neck were a lighter shade than the darker brown and black of its body. The bird strutted back and forth, glaring at Dean with peculiar yellow eyes that flashed darker purple. It obviously didn't like him much. The air around the creature shimmered with glamour.

"This is Kujan." Morgan smiled at the newcomer. "She is our daughter."

"Your daughter?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at Morgan and Camille. "Both of you?"

"Yes." Camille nodded. She and Morgan both looked quite proud.

The black eared kite stopped. She cocked her head to one side and stared banefully at Dean, then opened her black bill and screeched at him, loud and long.

That amused him so much he grinned at her, which only pissed her off even more. "I picked up on the family resemblance. You two knew I saw bird butt here out there in the woods."

Bird butt? Kujan crouched with her head down. She flashed her eyes at Dean, spread her tail feathers in an obvious display of anger.

"That's why you climbed all over me back then. You thought you could distract me and lead me around by my dick."

Camille shrugged. Morgan didn't say anything.

"How'd she know to follow Sam?"

"We asked her. For the last six months we've heard a lot about you and your brother." Morgan smiled slightly. "Everyone here is at odds with our own people."

Kujan huffed indignantly and ruffled her feathers, as if she totally disagreed. She resumed pacing back and forth on the ledge above the door.

"It's always good to have allies, if not friends. We didn't compel you to come after us." Camille shrugged. "We couldn't. You rescued us of your own free will."

"Free will is a purebred bitch," Dean muttered.

"So it is." Morgan nodded gravely. "You may as well know, your brother Samuel maimed a man for the witch. He took his left hand, condemned him to die with her mark carved into his skin. That was payment for the spell."

"No surprise there. Sammy always was an obsessed bastard." Dean's eyes narrowed as he studied the witch. He nodded. "Yeah, she's good. The place is heavily warded. Otherwise I could go in and take them both out."

Kujan stopped pacing back and forth and stared at Dean.

"So you would kill your own brother?" Morgan said quietly. Neither Fae gave no sign of what they really thought about that.

Dean scoffed. "Damn right I would. He won't back off. And I don't need saving. Now he wants us to be brothers again. To hell with that. I'm through with that freak show."

Camille approached Kujan. "Hello again, little one," she whispered lovingly. Kujan backed away from Camile's outstretched hand and launched herself into the air with a snap of her wings. She soared upwards.

Dean watched her go.

A flutter of wings, and Kujan split into a flock of fifty identical birds. They curved upwards into the bright sunlight, a shifting band of brown and black feathers.

"Sonofabitch," Dean whispered. "How did she do that?"

Camille stood in front of the door leading back into the suite. Morgan faded into view right beside her.

"Now, you're gonna tell me what you're really up to." Dean filled his right hand with the First Blade.

Morgan laughed. "Really?"

"Damn right you are."

"There's the matter of our gratitude. And your gift."

Dean snorted. "Come on. How fucking stupid do you think I am? You're not doing this out of the goodness of your hearts. Whatever this gift is, it's got strings attached. You want something from me."

"Perhaps," Morgan purred. "Do you trust us, Dean?"

"If you play me, I'll kill you."

Camille laughed. "Of course not."

A rustle of feathers from behind. In his mind's eye Dean saw Kujan swooping in low over the deck, her wings spread, her wicked black talons extended before her. She was all in one now, and it was clear she intended to tear into Dean from behind.

Without turning Dean raised his left arm in that direction, his fingers curved, clawlike. Kujan squawked as she slammed into the leading edge of the bubble Dean threw up around her. She was caught in mid-air, suspended above the deck. Startled, she began to flail about. She separated again, into thirty birds this time. They exploded out of her body and pushed uselessly against the trap.

Camille started forward. "Don't hurt her -"

Dean raised the First Blade. Camille stopped. "Then tell me about this gift."

"There's not much to tell. The gift is yours now. Whether you want it or not." Morgan smiled brightly.

He didn't notice what else was happening until it was too late.

A tickling sensation underneath the soles of his bare feet. Dean glanced down. He stood in a circle of shimmering purple light that wasn't there before.

Damn Fae magic. His muscles seized up. He couldn't move. Symbols rose up out of the light, black lines, interlocking circles, circles within triangles filled with brilliant colors, magenta and cyan, silver and gold. As Dean watched the symbols crawled over his instep, his ankles, flowed up his body.

What the fuck was this?

The Mark of Cain flared up, fiery metallic red.

Dean's eyes flashed from green to black as he took a halting step forward.

The Mark pulsed. Dean lurched forward another step.

"Goodbye, Dean." Morgan and Camille winked at him. They faded out. Gone. He could no longer hear the frantic beat of Kujan's wings.

The cords in his neck, the veins in his arms and legs bulged from the strain. The Mark stuttered, weaker this time. He couldn't walk out of the circle of light. The sigils continued their relentless march upward, past his legs, hips and stomach.

Dean swayed on his feet. The glow of the Mark faded.

The symbols reached his chest and shoulders, then flowed up his neck, chin and jawline. They pushed their way in past his lips. He drew in a breath and that only pulled the colors deeper inside him. The damn things surged past his cheekbones, pushed in past his eyelashes.

He blinked moss green. Pitch black. Magenta. Cyan. Deep purple. Ruby red. Dean's heartbeat thundered inside his head, fast and panicky.

The colors mixed together inside his skull.

Everything inside him went quiet. Then everything exploded.

His head rocked back. The forces inside Dean raised him up on his toes. He was unable to stop himself. His arms fell limply to his sides. Dean was held there, suspended, barely touching the ground. The skin on his back grew uncomfortably tight. He gasped as his back muscles spasmed painfully.

Colors blazed underneath his freckled skin. He jerked forward as something pushed out of him from behind.

Once.

Twice.

Then twice more.

After the fourth spasm the colors faded away. His knees buckled. Dean collapsed heavily onto his hands and knees, a puppet with the strings cut. His breath rattled in his throat as he drew in great lungfuls of air. A flicker of pitch black in his eyes, then back to green.

o0o0o0o0o0

Dean knelt there catching his breath, panting like a dog in summer. That moment of weakness quickly passed as the Mark flared up again. The rush of adrenaline and power that flowed through him was so strong it warmed his skin, tightened his muscles. The feel of the Blade in his hand made him feel better. Oh yeah, he was going to show Morgan and Camille exactly what he thought about their stupid gift after he hunted them down.

Dean rose to his feet, still clutching the Blade, but his knees wobbled and he fell forward. He threw his left arm up; his palm smacked flat against the door. His knees felt like rubber.

The Mark pulsed, more slowly this time, as though it realized its mistake by juicing him up too soon and was determined not to repeat that error. Dean leaned against the door, gripped the handle of the Blade and forced himself to breathe deeply until his heart slowed down and his breathing leveled out.

"Well," a male voice called out from behind. "Aren't you a handsome devil."

The Mark flared up again, glowed hot and steady. The Fae bitches obviously called in reinforcements after they left. Big mistake. For them. Good for him.

Dean growled to himself as he gripped the First Blade tighter. He smiled wide and feral as he turned around.

Now which one of these sonsofbitches was going to die first?

Dean took one look and stopped short.

The scrying mirror was gone. So was Kujan.

But he wasn't alone on the deck anymore.

Four men sat in a loose circle behind him. They were naked. Four pairs of identical moss green eyes boldly stared back at him. The one on the far left winked. The double on the opposite end gave Dean a thumbs up.

Broad shoulders. Wide green eyes. Bowlegs. Dark blond hair. They were his mirror image, right down to the spray of freckles across their noses, the inverted anti-possession tattoo on their chests, the Mark of Cain on the inside of their right arms.

The Dean in the middle smirked at him. "Is that the First Blade or are you just happy to see us?"

Dean was speechless, for one of the few times in his entire life. Everything inside him, the Mark of Cain, the bloodlust, everything came to a sudden, screeching halt.

TBC next week


	6. the boys in the band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets the clones, the 'brothers' he never knew he had. The world is not ready for this.

  


  
Artwork courtesy of the very talented beata101: http://beata101.deviantart.com/art/Army-of-Cain-fan-made-poster-464613909  


* * *

"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You." _**  
**_**\---Dr. Seuss ~ Happy Birthday to You!**

_**  
** _

"Black shadow hangin' over your shoulder   
 Black mark up against your name   
Your green eyes couldn't get any colder   
There's bad poison runnin' through your veins."  
 _ **\---**_ **AC/DC' ~ Evil Walks**

* * *

_**Chapter 6 – the boys in the band** _

Dean stood there, too shocked to even blink. His fingers nearly unhinged and he almost dropped the First Blade onto the deck, but even though he was a Knight of Hell now he still retained the habits of a hunter. Never give up your weapon.

The clones just sat there, eerily polite but alert, like they were waiting for Dean to do or say something. Dean didn't notice the voices inside his head. Not at first. They sounded just like his voice, so he thought they were.

And then he realized they weren't.

The first one fidgeted. _Are we gonna do something or just sit here?_

 _Too bad the bitches left,_ the second one thought. _I wanted to hit that again._

Number three squirmed uncomfortably. _Damn. I think I got a splinter in my ass._

Four sighed. _Man, I could go for some pie right now. Apple. Or cherry._

Dean felt the shock fall away. This was a mind fuck. Yeah, that was it. Had to be. A stupid friggin' Fae mind fuck. Somewhere Morgan, Camille and Kujan were laughing their asses off.

He raised the First Blade menacingly. "Who the hell are you sonsofbitches!" His command voice sounded even more impressive when amplified by his demonhood. That, coupled with the Blade, should have been really impressive.

Or maybe not.

"See, I told you he wouldn't believe us." One sounded annoyed.

Two turned to three. "Well, you lost the bet."

That Dean looked pissed. He raised both arms up to show how completely naked he was. "Do I look like I have any money on me, genius? Put it on my tab."

"Again?" Four frowned.

"Dead men talking," Dean snarled. He knelt down in front of the nearest double, number three, and put the First Blade to his throat. " _Who_ are you? _What_ are you? And what the fuck are you doing inside my head.?"

That Dean didn't flinch. Instead he raised his chin and leaned into the edge of the Blade. His eyes flickered from bright green to pitch black. His gaze never wavered; he looked Dean right in the eyes. "Go ahead," he growled, baring his teeth in a feral grin. "DO IT!"

The other three looked at Dean in amazement, as though it should have been obvious. "Dude," One said, "We're _you_. You're the source of us."

"The hell I am!" Dean roared.

"Come on, Dean," Two drawled. "You know damn well this isn't a Fae mind fuck. Stop being an ass about this."

Four rolled his eyes. "Bored now."

Dean pulled the Blade away. He leaned over and wordlessly stuck the tip into the top of Four's shoulder, then slowly pulled the Blade down the double's arm to the inside of the elbow. No reaction. Four just sat there. He didn't even flinch.

Blood welled up, then vanished underneath the skin. The cut healed up immediately.

Dean leaned over and with a flick of his wrist marked a long stripe down the right side of Three's face and neck. The result was the same: the cut vanished as soon as the Blade lifted up from his skin.

He stood up and slashed at Two. The First Blade opened up a gash from his chin down his throat.

Dean moved on to One. He cut him diagonally across the face,. The Blade struck him underneath his left eye, across the bridge of his nose. The cut ended at his left ear.

The same reaction each time: no fear, or anger. The cuts he inflicted on them healed up immediately.

"If you prick us, do we not bleed," Dean murmured to himself. Huh. That was something he remembered from Sam's homework, way back when. Shylock's speech from The Merchant of Venice. Shakespeare. He didn't want to remember stuff like that from his old life, but he did anyway.

The four gave Dean a dog head tilt all at the same time. There was no anger, no pain or resentment in those faces, just the same intense look. They weren't zombies, they weren't mindless puppets. Intelligence shone in those wide green eyes. They were all smart, fast, and lethal. Just like Dean.

Dean idly tapped the flat side of the Blade against his chest four times. He stilled himself. He turned towards the clones and the stared each one of them in the eyes. Something deep inside him detached. He felt himself lift out of his body.

Dean saw himself standing naked on the deck with the First Blade in his hand. The sensation was a curious one. He experienced everything on twin tracks: the sun was at his back, yet he felt it on his face too. He saw the four duplicates sitting there calmly at the same time. He felt the wood deck against the soles of his feet and his ass.

Dean went deep inside. He watched the first clone's face blank. He went slowly at first. This sensation was more like rifling through a file cabinet. Recent memories surrounded him, like some freaky hologram display.

"You lied to me."

"Who d'you think you're talking to?" Crowley huffed. "Does the tin man have a sheet metal willie? Of course I lied to you. I had to keep you sharp."

Deeper.

Anne Marie looked sad. "I thought you were a good man pretending to be bad. I was wrong."

Even deeper.

"It's better this way. The Mark is changing me into somebody I don't want to be."

_Bullshit. I like this me better now. Lean Mean Dean.  
_

Dean stopped. He floated in what seemed to be a vast room that stretched from horizon to horizon all around him. The vast space was filled with images, ghostlike, and shifted and changed. The scenes played on, unmindful of his presence.

He saw himself singing at the Black Spur.

"...see what I see, Dean. Come on, let's take a howl at that moon."

He saw himself open his eyes in the Bunker, shiny, pitch black and reborn.

And he smiled.

He saw himself pinned helplessly against the wall as that douchebag Gadreel killed Kevin and walked Sam's body out of the bunker.

As much as it pained him, Dean pushed on, back through the years of his human life. He watched as the years at that thankless crusade ground him down, made him old before his time. The people he couldn't save died again before his eyes. The ones he did save were grateful, all right. And why shouldn't they be? He's saved their asses, after all. Dad's thankless crusade rolled on and on.

First hunts, first loves. Death all around. Hundreds of his own.

"Daddy, I'm gonna be the bestest big brother ever!"

Ugh. Full stop. He'd seen enough.

He had to know for sure. Morgan and Camille were heavy hitters, all right, not he doubted that not even they could pull this off.

Something deep inside him stirred restlessly, and it wasn't the Mark of Cain. Dean glanced at the Mark. It didn't glow. It wasn't agitated. The Mark was silent. It didn't need blood, didn't need to be fed, at least not right now.

The heat in his blood cooled down. _Not the Mark_ , Dean thought to himself. _That was me. I was pissed off. Now I'm getting emo. Damn._

Dean blinked. He was back in his own body. The clones sat quietly. Waiting.

He could have done more damage to his twins. Could have sunk the Blade into their chests, could have gutted them with one swipe of the blade. He could have. But he didn't. And how he knew why he didn't.

The urge to lash out didn't come from the Mark. It came from him. He was frustrated and yeah, freaked out by this. So much for avoiding human emotions. The Mark was silent. It didn't react. The Mark would punish him if he didn't keep it fed with blood and death. Crowley knew that, and for a while the King of Hell supplied a steady stream of possessed humans for Dean to kill. Not that the bastard was doing Dean any big favors. He had to keep his new weapon sharp, after all.

The Mark had no problem churning his guts. Had no problem glowing and making him restless because it wanted him to kill. But not now.

There was only one reason why it wouldn't become hostile towards the four.

It wouldn't. Or couldn't.

_Because they were Dean._

The Mark might thrive on death, but it wasn't stupid. It wasn't about to kill off the one who bore the Mark.

Even if the cursed one was somehow duplicated.

The rest was just a formality. He slipped in and out of the others, and everything he saw inside them was the same. Yep. These were the brothers he never knew he had.

That surprised a laugh out of him, a deep, happy sound.

The doubles smirked. They sat quietly. Waiting.

Something wild and defiant rose up inside Dean. His duplicates, his clones, whatever they were, whatever you wanted to call them...he could trust them because they _were_ him. One and the same. They'd never turn on him like Cain's Knights did. They'd _always_ have his back. There would be none of that family crap either, the kind that Sam and Dad always dumped on him.

He was done howling at the moon. He accepted that. From now on he was in a fight to keep this life, and he'd fight to keep it against all comers. Sam wanted to cure him. No doubt Crowley would want him as a weapon even more now, once he found out.

Six fucking months. He hadn't felt any of those damn human emotions during that time. No regret, no doubt, just pleasure in whatever he did. He was a Knight of Hell with the Mark of Cain. He'd live forever, right?

Wrong. Sam wanted him back. Fucking Sam. Bastard hadn't looked for him when he was in Purgatory. Sam wanted him back, and from the looks of things that damn blood spell would work. It would take Sasquatch 10 hours to drive back to the bunker. Maybe he'd rest up after, maybe not. Either way, they were on the clock.

Maybe this really was his heart's desire. Or maybe this really was some sort of mind fuck Morgan and Camille magicked up. They didn't do this out of the kindness of their hearts. Didn't matter. He'd deal with whatever came.

And whoever was stupid enough to cross him.

To hell with them. To hell with _all_ of them.

"Maybe later I'll decide what to call you," Dean said out loud. "Anybody got a problem with that?"

"No sir!"

"Uh-uh."

"Nope!"

"No prob, boss."

"So," Dean said, "It's just the five of us, right?"

Three smiled slyly. "Uh...not exactly."

Dean thought he knew everything about them, but he didn't expect what happened next.

The air around the clones blurred. Now there were sixteen clones sitting quietly behind the original four. The four had duplicated themselves, again by four. Four seemed to be the magic number here. That knowledge came as easily to Dean easily as knowing his name.

Dean lowered the First Blade. He blinked black.

He saw their true forms. They were huge and shaggy, blond and wolfy, moss green eyes that shifted to pitch black, curved ebony horns, large pointed ears that twitched this way and that. The spray of freckles across the front of his muzzle.

Their true forms were just like his. Exactly the same, right down to the smallest detail.

Dean smiled. He blinked green again. "Welcome to the party, guys."

"Hi!" Some of the newcomers waved.

"So what are we gonna do?" One asked. "Party until Sam drops the hammer on us?"

Four scowled. Dean could tell that the mere thought of Sam Winchester pissed him off to no end.

 _My kind of clone_ , Dean thought.

"We know what route he's going to take."

Dean nodded.

"I say we set up an ambush. Take him out once and for all."

Everyone nodded in total agreement.

Dean smiled. "A good idea is a good idea. Wait a minute. I'll be right back." He vanished in a snap of red light, only to reappear a moment later fully clothed, the First Blade neatly tucked into his back waistband.

"I call road trip. Let's roll."

The sixteen flowed back into the original four in the same blurred motion. The four stood up. Dean didn't touch them. He didn't have to. They became transparent, bands of light, and they flowed back into his skin. The process didn't hurt this time. Didn't even tickle. It was easy. The most natural thing in the world.

He gathered them all up until he stood alone there on the deck. Then he disappeared.

_Ready or not, here we come..._

TBC next week.


End file.
